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MR. CLEAVELAND'S ADDRESS 



BEFORE THE 



NEW-ENGLAND SOCIETY, 



OF BROOKLYN, N. Y. 




AN 



ADDRESS 



DELIVERED BEFORE THE 



NEW-ENGLAND SOCIETY 



tA 



BROOKLYN, N. Y., 



DECEMBEB 21, 1849.. 



NEHEMIAH CLEAVELAND. 



^uliUsljeU hv t\)t SocietB. 



NEW-YORK: 
PUDNEY & RUSSELL, PRINTERS 
M DCCCL. 



V6 



i9 






;v 



c 



ADDRESS. 



Mr. President, and Gentlemen 

OF THE New-England Society : 

The embarkation for Holland, of Robinson and his 
associates — the Delft-haven parting — the voyage of the 
May-Flower, and the landing of her pilgrim-heroes — 
are events that, long since, took their place among the 
immortahties of history. The orator and the poet, — 
though they have brought to their theme the power of 
a lofty eloquence, and the sweet charm of numbers, 
can scarcely be said to have heightened the sublimity, 
or to have deepened the pathos, of that simple, yet 
wondrous tale. 

Where, indeed, can the New-Englander go, and not 
find some association, that recalls the deeds and vir- 
tues of his ancestors ? Where is the ocean-isle — where 
that nook of earth, so remote, or so secluded, that the 
story has not reached it ? 

The assembly, to which, and in behalf of which, I 
speak, is made up, to a great extent, by natives of 
New-England. Most of us, it may safely be presumed, 
could trace our origin to those brave, true men, who^ 
two hundred years ago, fled from oppression in the Old 



World, to the stern but free shores of the New. From 
the pastoral valleys of Connecticut — and the sea-in- 
dented coasts of Maine ; — from the rocky glens of New- 
Hampshire, and the green hill-sides of Vermont ; — from 
busy, little Rhode-Island, and from glorious, old Massa- 
chusetts ; — we came — to find here a wider field of en- 
terprize — or a richer soil — or more indulgent skies. But 
the emigrant from a land like ours, does not, cannot, 
bring everything with him. There is a magnetism of 
memory and of affection, from whose influence he never 
wholly escapes. There we left our kindred, our friends, 
and our compatriots. There, still, were the pleasant 
fields, and the loved homes of childhood. There stand 
the school-house, the college, and the sanctuary — where 
our mental and our moral being received its earliest 
nurture. There lie the battle-grounds of freedom. There 
rise those monuments that proclaim the patriotism and 
bravery of our fathers. And there, is that hard, yet 
hospitable shore, which gave a shelter to the Pilgrim 
exiles, and which still holds their venerated dust. Re- 
membrances hke these, are the ties that bind us with 
indissoluble attachment to the land of our nativity. 
They are the grounds of that honest pride, with which 
we cherish her worth and her renown. They are, or 
at least, they should be, the copious source of gene- 
rous sentiment and manly virtue. We attest their pre- 
valence, and we confess their power, when assembling, 
as on this anniversary eve, to commemorate the first 
and the greatest event in our history. In this temple, 
which bears the Pilgrims' name, we have met, rever- 
ently, to acknowledge our own obligations to the Pil- 
grims' God. We consecrate an hour to filial duty and 



grateful recollections. We glory in our illustrious, 
though untitled ancestors — and feel, that here, at least? 
we can avow it without offense. We repel, with indig- 
nation, the reproaches which, through misapprehension or 
malignancy, have sometimes been cast upon them. We 
prize, as our dearest birth-right, the great inheritance 
which they left to us — and, while their honest blood 
shall course along our veins, we mean to cherish and 
guard it. 

Am I wrong in supposing that already you have 
begun to yield to the influences of this time — to us, 
"so hallowed and so gracious?" Have not the asso- 
ciations of the place, and the suggestions of the occa- 
sion, even now, moved some talismanic spring of me- 
mory in each New-England bosom here? Has not 
Imagination, with her conceptive pencil, sketched for 
you a hundred New-England landscapes — all different, 
yet all lovely ? Rather, has she not, as with sympa- 
thetic power, revived each faded line and tint, of the 
once familiar picture, till they glow before you, as of 
old, they glowed, in life's morning sunlight ? 

The home and play-place of your early days ; the 
evening fire-side, and its much-loved circle ; the mart 
of trade ; the hive-like manufacturing-town ; the quiet, 
inland village ; the secluded farm-houses scattered among 
the hills ; the verdant, open lawn ; the forest, in its 
vernal freshness, — its summer pride, — and its dying au- 
tumnal glories ; lake, river, rill ; the valley, in its calm 
beauty, — and the mountain, in its wild grandeur ; — 
with what fidelity are these all depicted there ! " How 
swift is a glance of the mind," when intellect and 
heart are simultaneously roused ! Already, have you re- 



visited every well-known haunt. You have rejoiced again 
in that parental smile, which gladdened you when a child. 
Again you have clasped a brother's and a sister's hand, 
as you used to clasp them in days long gone. Once 
more you have been trundling your hoop on the green, 
or have been jjlaying at hide-and-seek within doors. 
With elastic foot, or arm, you have sent the bounding 
ball across the plain ; or, with painful toil, you have 
dragged your sled up the icy hill, that you might ride 
exulting down. Or, perhaps, you have reared anew 
your little fortresses of snow — have stored with ball 
their fire-proof magazines — have headed the fcrlorn- 
hope that rushed to the assault, — or have led the gal- 
lant sortie, that repelled the foe. Again, you have been 
trolling for trout or pickerel along the shady marge 
of pond or stream. Once more their waters have up- 
borne you, as you floated on the wave — or explored 
its dim recesses — or stemmed its swift current with 
" lusty sinews" and with " hearts of controversy ;" — 
and once more, with a speed that mocked the wind, 
you have swept in graceful curves along its frozen sur- 
face. In mood more thoughtful, you have returned the 
warm grasp of school or college mate, and together, have 
recounted those hapjjy days of study and of friendship, 
which flew, alas ! all too quickly by. Again, you have 
formed one in that ring of happ}'^ faces round the 
blazing hearth — and have mingled, as of old, in its 
social converse, laugh, and song. You have been out, 
once more, with a pic-nic party, in leafy June ; — and 
you have felt again the keen excitement of a sleigh- 
ride beneath the moon of January. Was there not, 
somewhere, a path, fragrant with roses, or with the 



tasselled birch, or with the fresh-tufted pine, where you 
first breathed, or first heard the " music-vows" of youth- 
ful love ? That path, at least, has been trodden again 
to-night. Did your voice ever mingle in the chant of 
artless notes, that rose to Heaven, from the little family 
choir, — a choir untaught, it may be, in the divine airs 
of Beethoven, and guiltless of Italian trills ; — but who 
could " tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ?" 
Did you listen while "the priest-like father" read "the 
sacred page?" And did j^ou devoutly bow around 
that domestic altar, where " the saint, the father, and 
the husband, prayed?" Then, surely, those hallowed 
scenes have not been forgotten now. Is there one true 
son of New-England, who, on this evening, sacred to 
her memories, would fail to recall her undesecrated 
Sabbaths, and her time-honored sanctuaries ? But from 
these, I am reminded, a single step conducts us to the 
old burying-grounds. There let us bend, a moment, in 
silence and in tears, over the graves of those to whose 
hearts our welfare was no less precious than their 
own. 

If I have, in any measure, rightly interpreted the 
thoughts and feelings, which an occasion like the pre- 
sent summons up, — then, assuredly, it is good to be 
here. Let none deride, as irrational or childish, the 
fond remembrances, which bind the emigrant to the 
home of his youth. Not without good reasons were 
such emotions implanted in our nature. We would 
cherish them, not only as a source of true enjoyment, 
but because we have faith in their conservative and 
purifying power. These enduring associations with ob- 
jects still existing, — how closely do they unite us with 



others, which are no more ! As with mercurial touch, 
they rouse the dormant images of other and better 
days. They recall and re-impress the lessons of child- 
hood. They revive those very looks and tones of 
sincerity and tenderness, which imparted such interest 
and vitaUty to moral and religious truth, when taught 
by lips that we loved. A father's kind, judicious moni- 
tions again reach our ears — swelled now, as with re- 
verberatory voices, by a thousand confirming experiences 
of our own. Again we melt before the tender plead- 
ings of a mother's love, and rise from her embrace of 
affection and forgiveness, with hope and virtue re-as- 
sured. And ever, still, as we tread those shores of 
distant time, their gentle " murmuring" 

" Sounds sweet, as if a sister's voice reproved." 

Such, if you will, is our superstition. We mean not 
to deny it — nor, indeed, are we careful to conceal it. 
Nay, more ; we bind its sacred amulets around our 
necks — and wear them near our hearts. Our attach- 
ment to another, and later, and, in some respects, 
better home, — our grateful regard for those among 
whom our present lot is cast, — ought not to weaken, 
and cannot efface that love which we bear to our 
father-land. 

Ever welcome, then, be each annual return of her 
great historic days ! Ever dear be each field of blood 
and suffering, which has become identified with her 
renown ! Ever cherished be our personal reminiscences 
of home and kindred ! These are our green spots of 
memory. Green and fair, let them still continue, — 



9 



though the storms of life, and its winter years, should 
ravage or whiten every spot beside ! 

We meet on this anniversary, to commemorate, not 
merely a great historic epoch, and the men whose deeds 
and virtues made that epoch immortal. Pre-eminent, in- 
deed, as the first in a series of illustrious days, — we 
select it, as the embodiment, or the symbol of them all. 
We recall New-England, in her entireness ; — her territory, 
her people, her character, and her manners. It is that 
New-England, whose whole population was a few un- 
protected settlers, on a barbarous shore. It is New- 
England, toiling and struggling through a long provincial 
existence. It is New-England, again, amid the dark and 
the bright days of the Revolutionary era ; — and, finally, it 
is New-England, now — an integral and important mem- 
ber of a great, united empire ; herself constituting six 
industrious, thriving, intelligent, and virtuous communi- 
ties, — and, already, the mother of states, more populous 
and vastly more extensive than her own. Yes, it is 
New-England, not only as it was, and as it has been, 
but as it is, and as it will be, — ^whose great and 
venerable form rises before us on this evening of her 
birth-day. As grateful children, let us gather round 
her, and lay at her feet the willing offerings of our 
admiration and love. 

Salve magna parens frugum, Saturnia tellus, 
Magna viriim ! 

No one can have studied the history and character 
of New-England, and doubt that the founders of her 
commonwealths exerted upon their descendants an in- 
fluence, strong, lasting and peculiar ; nor can he fail 
to see, that this influence is still acting, with an in- 



10 



tensity and diffusiveness of power, unsurpassed, if not 
unequalled, in the history of man. It seems to me, 
that I shall render a becoming tribute to those found- 
ers of a nation, and not unfitly employ the few moments 
here allotted to me, in considering, very briefly, the 
nature and causes of that influence. 

First, then, among the reasons of the unexampled 
success which attended the great experiment of our 
forefathers, I place the fact, that they were Enghsh- 
men. Indeed, I am inclined to regard this condition 
as having been the necessary pre-requisite to any re- 
sult that could be called success. What other people 
of modern Europe can show a single example of greatly 
prosperous colonization? Where is the state or province, 
not of English planting, which has even held its own ; 
to say nothing of a continual progress in intelligence 
and character, wealth and power ? Has Spain or Por- 
tugal anything to boast of in this respect ? Let the 
degenerate Creole — let the distraction, and insecurity, 
and poverty, and ignorance, and indolence, that reign 
all over Mexico, and Central, and Southern America, 
answer that question. How is it with France? She 
is great and brave ; she is gay and gallant ; but where 
are her colonies ? Her feeble settlements of a former 
day, all slipped from her grasp. Her recent achieve- 
ments, in this line, are the Marquesas, the Society 
Islands and Algeria. But the Marquesas have already 
been abandoned, and that expensive plaything on the 
Moorish coast, which has cost her so much, in blood, 
in treasure, and in character, bids fair, at no distant 
day, to follow in their track. 

But these, it may be urged, were Catholic countries. 



11 

A superstitious faith, the debasing sway of Priest and 
Jesuit, so paralyzing, everywhere, to human energy, 
spread their baleful shadow over the sky, and shed a 
withering Wight upon their fortunes. Is the case ma- 
terially different with Protestant Holland, with Sweden, 
or Denmark, or any of the States of Upper Germany? 
Can the boors of Cape Colony, now an English de- 
pendency, or the plantations of Surinam and the East 
Indian Archipelago, be regarded as brilliant specimens 
of Dutch progress ? I do not forget, that it was the 
same staid race which first gave inhabitants and a 
name to the very region which we now occupy. I 
would speak respectfully of their virtues, for they de- 
serve it. Peaceful and unambitious, they have long 
furnished the most perfect specimens of conservatism 
in America. I need not dwell on their colonial achieve- 
ments in politics and war. Has not History made 
them immortal ? 

It is unnecessary to pursue the inquiry. With all 
the evidence before him, who will believe, that under 
the auspices of any other race, these northern states 
of America, and much more, New-England, could have 
run a career so great ? 

The improvement which results from an intermin- 
gling of different races, has never been more conspi- 
cuous than in that to which we belong. To those 
Teutonic nations which successively invaded and occu- 
pied England, the mere act of transplantation was 
doubtless advantageous. There, they blended, not only 
with each other, but with an aboriginal race, in native 
force and independence, scarcely, if at all, inferior to 
their own. In process of time, the compound received 



12 



an additional ingredient, when the strong and enduring, 
but coarse and sluggish elements of the German cha- 
racter, were quickened and refined by the compulsory 
infusion of another Northland current. It was, proba- 
bty, this irruption, the last which England endured, 
that, more than anything else, 

" ennobled her breed, 
And high-mettled the blood of her veins." 

Ph3''sical strength ; animal courage ; patient endurance 
of toil and hardship ; a spirit, enterprizing, but not 
rash; large acquisitiveness, though bent more on spend- 
ing than hoarding ; inflexible tenacity of purpose ; an 
intellect marked by good common sense ; conservative 
without being obstinate, and inclined to practice rather 
than to theory ; not deficient in imagination, yet more 
distinguished by reason ; a love of freedom, innate and 
inextinguishable, with an exalted sense of honor and 
duty ; such, it seems to me, are the leading lineaments 
of this extraordinary race. They go far towards ac- 
counting for its steady progress in social and political 
economy, in industry, arts, and arms. This admirable 
combination of qualities, so well-proportioned and so 
evenly balanced, has enabled England to throw, suc- 
cessively, from her shoulders, the intolerable burdens of 
aristocratic, and priestly, and regal tyranny. She alone, 
among the nations of Europe, has found a way, through 
peaceful revolution, to constitutional freedom and a gov- 
ernment of law ; while others, in the pursuit, have 
waded knee-deep in blood, and have waded in vain. 
This is the secret of her industrial success, and vast 
commercial enterprize. This explains her almost un- 



13 



broken line of military triumphs, and the superiority 
which has so generally attended her standard, when- 
ever she has been called to measure swords with any 
race except her own. To it she owes the laurels of 
Agincourt, and the trophies of Blenheim. This it was, 
that enabled her troops to march through the Spanish 
Peninsula, driving before them, and driving out of it, 
great marshals, till then invincible, and veteran armies 
which had never known defeat ; before whose brilliant 
manoeuvring and impetuous valor, the embattled hosts 
of Prussia, Austria, and Russia, had melted like wax. 
But it is, emphatically, upon the sea, that the capa- 
bilities of the race have been most amply tested and 
developed. Here, the differences of breed operate more 
powerfully than on the land. To make up that pecu- 
liar and most important personage — a first-rate sailor — 
demands elementary principles of a very peculiar cha- 
racter. Such are — a native inclination for roving and 
adventure — a bold, free spirit — strength and quickness 
of muscle — steadiness of nerve and eye — willingness to 
toil — patience to endure — self-possession in sudden peril, 
and prompt courage for any danger. It is safe to say, 
that the men who are capable of becoming good sea- 
men, might have been equally efficient for any service 
on shore. But the converse of the proposition would 
be far from the truth. Upon the battle-field, the French 
have shown themselves the most brilliant fighters of 
our day. They rush to the fierce affi-ay with almost 
a lover's ardor. But in the French soldier, bravery 
is not unmingled with vanity. Indeed, these qualities 
seem, in his breast, to exist but correlatively. He 



14 



works best under excitement. Without this, I might 
say, he works little, if at all. To rouse his full ener- 
gies, requires the " pomp and circumstance of war," — 
the roar and fury of the conflict. " Speedy death or 
glorious victory," might be his motto always. 

The sailor, I hardly need say, must be made of 
other, if not " sterner " stuff. For the most part, his 
life upon the sea is one of monotonous and painful 
toil. In his conflicts with the billows and the storm, 
there is far less of glory than there is of suffering 
and danger. The sea-boy, chnging, as though he were 
a bird, to the taper spar, that sways and quirers a 
hundred feet above the roaring and fathomless abyss ; 
or, pacing the lonely deck, through the long dark hours 
of a tempestuous watch — can know little of incitement 
or reward, beyond and apart from the deep love of 
country and home, and the still voice of dut}"- within. 
The ungrateful tasks may, indeed, be performed under 
the lower stimulus of gain, or the debasing terrors of 
the lash ; but it is onl}^ the higher impulses just re- 
ferred to — those moral energies which inculcate subordi- 
nation, while they inspire the loftiest heroism — that are 
competent to create a naval power like that of England 
and the United States. And thus, that inaptitude of 
France for the sea, which, from a knowledge of her 
temperament and character, could have been inferred, 
is a matter of authentic history and every-day obser- 
vation. In the maritime strength and glory of England, 
we find, on the other hand, the strongest confirmation 
of all that we should have anticipated from the study 
of her material and moral physiology. What but the 



15 



constant manifestation, and the universal conviction, that 
there were elementary and invincible forces in her very 
constitution, has given to that " sceptred isle" — 

" That fortress built by Nature for herself, 
Against infection and the hand of war — 
That happy breed of men" — 

a right of exultation, beyond even the old Lacedaemo- 
nian boast ? What else has secured to the banks of 
Thames a longer inviolability from foreign foes, than 
those of the Eurotas once enjoyed ? 

It was an off-shoot, be it remembered, from this 
thrice-grafted British stock, which our forefathers brought 
and planted here. How quickly and how firmly it 
took root — how rapidly and vigorously it grew — how 
fair its blossoming — how rich, already, and how abun- 
dant its fruits — let those proclaim who now sit beneath 
the lofty, wide-spread tree ; the twenty millions of free, 
happy men, who are sustained by its juices and pro- 
tected by its shade. Has the Saxon spirit lost a parti- 
cle of its life ? — has the Saxon blood shown one symp- 
tom of debasement, since they became Americanized ? 
Our whole colonial history — our estabhshment and pro- 
gress as a nation — and our present position of happi- 
ness and power — admit of but one reply. 

In no part of our country has the experiment been 
so fairly tested, as in that from which we came. No 
other section contained in the original settlement, so 
slight an admixture of other races. To the preserva- 
tion of this purity, various circumstances contributed. 
The strict, if not austere character of its religious 
population, presented few charms for the mere votary 



16 



of gain or of pleasure. The inability of the country 
to produce any great staple, not only made unnecessa- 
ry, but effectually prevented the introduction, to any 
noticeable extent, of mercenary labor, of slaves, and 
of felon redemptioners. 

It were easy to show, did time allow, how all the 
strongest and best qualities of the old English cha- 
racter were not merely retained, but invigorated and 
matured, under that stern discipline and those cold 
skies. The honest, homebred virtues of the middle 
and the peasant classes, which had so long been native 
to their dear motherland, flourished none the less on 
this hard, new soil. Love of country, of home and 
kindred, founded, not on vanity, but in the heart ; 
high regard for truth and duty ; restless enterprize, 
untiring industry, indefatigable perseverance ; that in- 
born and only true independence which, while it spurns 
and repels the first touch, the lightest imposition of un- 
authorized power, can submit, even gladly, to the 
heaviest burdens of legitimate authority, when legiti- 
mately laid ; these had not then, nor have they at any 
time since, been more conspicuous in Old England than 
they soon became in the New. 

What race but this, on either side of the Atlantic, 
has shown the talent to erect, and the ability to pre- 
serve the great fabric of social organization, on the 
united basis of liberty and law '? Not that the Enghsh 
or the Anglo-Americans were the first to discover and 
establish the principles of representative government, 
and popular freedom. In Spain, as the reader of 
history knows — in Holland still more, perhaps, than in 
Spain — those principles were understood and enforced, 



17 



at a period when England had not j^et emerged from 
the thraldom of arbitrary rule. But while superstition 
and luxurious indolence were rapidly converting the 
once free Spaniard into the abject tool of tyranny; — 
while, under a different class of influences, the earlier 
spirit of Batavian independence became enfeebled, if 
not effete ; — their island neighbors were fast advancing 
toward the high position which they so ignominiously 
abandoned. That position, once firmly taken, has 
never been relinquished. Less impulsive and imagina- 
tive than some — deliberate in thought, in purpose, and 
in act— we do not always arrive so early at results. 
But the results, once reached, and proved to be good, 
are held with iron tenacity. No backward movement, 
in this respect, has, for any length of time, marked 
the career of our progressive race. Never, I believe, 
were the great axioms of liberty and order, on which 
the constitutions of Britain and the United States so 
securely repose, more dearly prized, or held with 
firmer grasp, than at this very hour. 

It would be easy to pursue the parallel, and to exhibit 
the same undegenerate spirit as tested often upon field 
and flood. The deck, for instance, is it not also our 
*' field of fame ?" Is a Yankee less at Lome than a 
Briton, on the deep ? What distant sea, what savage 
clime, what unmapped shore, has the latter explored, 
which the former never saw ? When — in the course of 
events — the elder and the younger branch have come 
into unnatural collision — when Greek has encountered 
Greek — that sharpest tug of war — did the cadet prove 
inferior to the first-born? Amid the new and appalling 
terrors of Indian hostihties — in many a hard fought 

2 



18 



struggle of intercolonial and of revolutionary warfare — 
we read the evidence of American valor. This prin- 
ciple, as with our English progenitors and brethren, is 
no fier}'" zeal, liable to be chilled by the first adverse 
blast ; no vain-glorious courage, which disaster para- 
lyzes, and defeat annihilates ; no selfish impulse, made 
ferocious by success, and mean by misfortune. It is 
cool, steady, resistless, and humane. The American 
soldier and sailor, no less than the British, has an ob- 
stinate persuasion that he ' can't be beat,' and an equally 
obstinate determination that he 'won't be.' This is the 
moral secret of his power. This led him in triumph over 
the burning plains and the chill plateaux of Mexico. 
This, in the second war with England, drew such a 
blaze of glory round our little navy ; and this, in the 
great conflict of Independence, baptized with glorious 
blood the sod of Bunker Hill, and wrote its name in an 
immortal triad with those of Morat and of Marathon. 

Again, our fore-fathers were not only Englishmen, but 
Protestant Englishmen. I am addressing those who 
have been accustomed to esteem the reformation as the 
great event of modern times : an event of inappreciable 
importance to the cause of morals and religion — but 
whose benefits were by no means limited to these. 
We, I presume, generally regard it as the commence- 
ment of a new, benignant era — the era of mental en- 
franchisement and progress — of moral power — of enlight- 
ened legislation — and of personal freedom. Can it be, 
that in this, we have been laboring under a mistake? 
Were our old New-England ideas all wrong? Was 
this earthquake movement of the sixteenth century, as 
some in England, and some — proh jmdor ! in America, 



19 



too, have lately told us — but a great, disastrous blun- 
der ? We have supposed that it set forward the index 
of human improvement on the mighty clock-face of 
time : or, at least, that it removed the clogs which so 
long kept it stationary. And do they now ask us to 
believe, that it even pushed that index back, as the 
shadow retreated on the sun-dial of Ahaz ! 

Surely, with other eyes, must we learn to see, and 
with other ears to hear, ere we can thus stultify the 
clearest and deepest convictions of our souls. The 
teachings of authentic history are too plain — the facts 
which observation furnishes, are too numerous and pal- 
pable, to be thus ignored. To doubt that there is 
something in Protestantism, which exerts upon the 
mind, the character, and even the material interests 
of a community, a vast influence for good, is to ques- 
tion the very deductions of reason, and the strongest 
testimony of our own senses. The experiment has 
been fairly and fully tested. Side by side, the results 
of the two systems, after centuries of trial, stand out 
in the broad light of day. Not more prominent is the 
dividing Hne between freedom and slavery ; not more 
distinct is the contrasted operation of those opposing 
principles on the respective prosperity of two conter- 
minous states. To this fact, then, that our ancestors 
were Protestants, we must ascribe, in no small meas- 
ure, the success of the colonies which they planted. 

I have spoken of Protestantism in general terms, and 
of an influence which was exerted, to a greater or 
less extent, by the founders of nearly all the states. 
But the Protestantism of our New-England fore-tathers, 
it is well known, was peculiar. Of that sect, they 



20 



were, perhaps, the straitest. Of all Protestants, they 
were the most protesting. With reform, as approved 
and adopted by the civil and ecclesiastical authorities 
of England, they were far from being satisfied. They 
demanded something better, purer, nobler. At least, 
they contended for a Christian liberty, and the right 
to dispense, in solemn acts of worship, with ceremo- 
nies and observances, which they deemed unsafe and 
unlawful. Denied this boon — laughed at for their 
strictness — and persecuted for their non-conformity — 
they determined to find a home, where the arm of 
mitred and regal tyranny could no longer reach them. 

" They sought a Faith's pure shrine." 

They preferred a hut in the wilderness, with peace 
and freedom, to the fairest home that England could 
offer, without these blessings. Exempted, as we are, in 
the Providence of God, from their hard lot ; called, 
not to imitate, but to contemplate their example ; — well 
may we admire the greatness of their self-denial, — the 
grandeur of their stern resolve, — and the sublimity of 
their accomplished purjDose. 

It has generall}' been thought, and there seems no 
good reason to doubt, that the peculiarities of their 
religious faith, and the vast moment which they at- 
tached to particular dogmas, had an important bearing, 
not only on their own character, but on that of the 
institutions which they estabhshed. The great idea of 
toleration — that " soul-liberty," which was so dear to 
the eccentric, but immortal Roger Williams, — was, it is 
true, a principle be3^ond their reach ; — and with one or 
two memorable exceptions, — it was equally unknown to 



21 



all the men of that day. Time, alone, and actual trial, 
could demonstrate its safety and its excellence. This 
drawback, notwithstanding, — the action and principles of 
the New-England founders, proved, either directly or 
indirectly, highly favorable to human advancement — to 
mental independence — and to civil liberty. 

Their notions of government, and their acts of legis- 
lation, being modeled, at first, after the Jewish The- 
ocracy, were, but too often, hard and exclusive. Yet 
even these tended to produce personal independence of 
thought and feeling — since they set up a higher stan- 
dard of distinction, than wealth or rank. Having once 
assumed for themselves the right of human judgment 
in matters of religion, they could not, as they soon 
found, restrict it in others. They were firm believers 
in the system of Calvin. Of this system, whatever 
else may be thought, it cannot safely be denied, that it 
has exerted, everywhere, a powerful effect in the form- 
ation or development of character. Sturdiness of in- 
tellect and inflexibility of purpose — love of freedom and 
dauntless courage — have never failed to attend it. For 
a century before it migrated to America, it had shown 
itself in various parts of Europe, the devoted and un- 
flinching advocate of liberty. Here, too, it had its part 
to perform. Scholars and divines, — men who have lost, 
or who never had a leaning to the supra-lapsarian 
theology of our ancestors, — have seen, and have ac- 
knowledged in it — an element of power and of good, 
peculiarly adapted to the exigences of an extraordinary 
crisis. 

But, whatever we may think of their religious 
opinions, there is one tribute, which none can withhold 



22 



from the Pilgrim Puritans ; — I mean the tribute due to 
their reHgious character. The widest latitudinarianism 
will not question the deep and steady piety of those 
true, earnest, religious men. This was the impelling 
spring of their self-denying conduct — their more than 
heroic zeal, energy and fortitude. It was the felt voice 
of conscience, — the high sense of obHgation, — which 
prompted them to resist the unjust requirements of 
power. This — the strongest principle of our nature, — 
so powerful to impel — so mighty to sustain, — is, in fact, 
the distinctive feature of that great event, — the first 
settlement of New-England. It is its religious origin 
and character, which made it unique, and grandly pecu- 
liar in colonizing annals. This hallowed the noble en- 
terprize. Its influence could not be otherwise than 
deep, salutary, lasting. This — their highest honor — can 
never die. This — their best praise — shall embalm their 
memories in every grateful, generous heart, to the end 
of time. 

The social and political institutions of our ancestors, 
though suggested and colored by their principles and 
preferences, were necessarily modified and shaped by 
the all-controlling influence of circumstances. This is 
so evident, that we can hardly suppose it to have 
been ever seriously questioned. Some, indeed, may 
have ascribed too much to their original intentions, and 
to their early acts. Yet, even such, I presume, never 
intended to assert that our fore-fathers either planned 
or anticipated the erection of a Republic, in the full 
sense ol that term. They expected, and were wifling 
to remain nominal subjects of the king; — but the real 
power they meant to keep, and they did keep in 



23 



their own hands. Freedom — personal, civil, and above 
all, religious freedom, was the grand object for which 
they came. It was with reference mainly to this 
great concern, that their institutions, whether religious 
or political, were framed. They made some mistakes ; 
but, notwithstanding these, the experiment succeeded, 
and its triumphant result must ever stand an incontro- 
vertible witness to the good sense, as well as good 
intentions of the brave adventurers. 

I can afford but a passing glance at one or two ot 
the more prominent features in a system, by which 
they laid, half unconsciously, perhaps, the solid found- 
ations of a powerful commonwealth. I speak first of 
property. The influence of this material element m 
determining the form of government, is not always 
fully appreciated. On this point, the opinions of Har- 
rington have been approved by the ablest of American 
statesmen. " Property in land," says the author of 
Oceana, " according to the distribution that happens of 
the same, causes the political balance — producing em- 
pire of the like nature. That is, if the property in 
land be so diffused through the whole people, that 
neither one landlord, nor a few landlords overbalance 
them., the empire is popular." How equally and gen- 
erally, under the New-England regimen, it was divided 
and diffiised, you all know. At first, indeed, it could 
hardly be otherwise. The original settlers brought no 
large fortunes into the wilderness ; and the wilderness, 
even had they brought them, was no place for invest- 
ing capital. They knew, however, that in time it 
would be otherwise. Such a restilt they hastened to 
prevent. For the feudal usages of that world from 



24 



which they came, they had no partiality. To build 
up an aristocracy on the poor basis of wealth and 
title, was no part of their plan. Their laws were 
framed accordingly. They made estates divisible 
among all the children, and gradually did away 
with deeds of entail, and rights of primogeniture. By 
these acts, and b}'^ the comparatively ecjual distribution 
which ensued, they may be said to have predestinated, 
not only the political character of their descendants, 
but the very republic which those descendants at 
length established. 

Another conspicuous feature in the system of our 
fore-fathers, seems to have been dictated, partly by a 
regard to safety — and partly by a consideration, which 
was ever uppermost in their minds, namely, the more 
easy and more certain maintenance of religious habits 
and ordinances. I speak now of a regulation, long 
strictly adhered to, that each new settlement should oc- 
cupy a circle not more than one mile in diameter, of which 
the central nucleus must, in all cases, be the Meeting- 
House. This was the beginning and the foundation of 
that small-township system, which has exerted on New- 
England so marked an influence. Each little com- 
munity thus formed, had its charter — its right to be 
represented — its own municipal government and laws. 
Each became, in fact, an independent and complete 
democracy — subject, indeed, to the control of a body, 
elected by all the members — but never losing, or even 
compromitting its corporate privileges. In these small 
municipalities, if so I may call them, was nursed the 
free, intelhgent spirit of New-England. At the town- 
meeting, each voter felt his weight and knew his 



25 



rights. These were the primary schools — the juvenile 
debating clubs — where infant Hberty, and young repub- 
licanism, were trained for the trials and struggles that 
awaited their manhood. 

To these enlightened, independent, rural hamlets, 
Boston could not be a Paris. No wealthy, populous 
town on the sea-board, could lord it over their hum- 
bler brethren in the country. In its character, its 
working, and its relations to the component federation 
of which it was a part, the New-England system of 
small corporate towns, is analogous to that of the sep- 
arate state sovereignties, which compose our Federal 
empire. Both seem to have been in some sense, the 
creation of accident — accident to our feeble human 
vision — but Providence, it may be, to other eyes. 
Both, as we firmly believe, have largely contributed 
to the harmonious and successful operation of our 
great experiment in self-government. Could certain 
grown-up children across the water, who have lately 
entered the republican school, take, in this respect, as 
well as in some others, a lesson from America, it 
might not be amiss. At present, they seem, to say 
the least, somewhat awkward — and, by their blunder- 
ing movements, remind one of that lubberly New-Eng- 
land youth, traditionally, doubtless, known to most of 
you, who, on his first day at a new school, made so 
many ineffectual attempts at spelling — and whose mode 
of accounting for his failure, reveals, perhaps, the secret 
of their mistakes : — " I guess," said he, " I have not 
been here long enough to get the hang of this school- 
house ! " 

I refer, in this connection, to but one point more. 



26 



If, in the particulars already referred to, our fore-fathers 
can claim but a divided praise, — in that which I am 
now to mention, the glory is all their own. Need I 
say, that I refer to their efforts in the cause of general 
education? This subject has been so often and so fully 
presented, that I need enter into no detail. But let 
not familiarity with the fact, make us insensible to its 
importance, or blind us to the merit of those, who first 
conceived and executed the great idea of educating, 
not only the few, but the many. At a period when 
the general diffusion of knowledge, had any such mea- 
sure been proposed, would, throughout Europe — unless, 
perhaps, in Scotland — have been scouted as absurd and 
dangerous ; — they saw and felt it to be their only 
safety. Their action was in accordance. The moral 
obligation of the parent was enforced by penal statute. 
The entire property of the community was taxed for 
the maintenance of schools, open alike to all. For 
nearly two centuries before the obligations of the state, 
as such, to secure the education of its children, had 
been confessed and acted on, in any part of Europe — 
or in any other part of America, — New-England felt 
the responsibility, and lived up to it. The results are 
before us. The prevalence of liberty, and law, and 
order ; of intelligence and prosperity ; of sound morals 
and pure religion, — which has, all along, marked the 
history, and which still constitutes the glory of the 
New-England commonwealths, is the highest of all pos- 
sible testimony to the fidelity, and prescient sagacity 
of their founders. Who sees not that they, alone, of 
Earth's legislating Solons, and of her religious Numas, 
discovered the only solid foundation, on which repub- 



27 



lies can quietly rest, or long endure ? This, then, we 
may well regard as the crowning labor of their enter- 
prise. This gave strength, durability, completeness, to 
their work. Without this, the noblest qualities of race — 
the purest religious faith — the wisest forms of civil 
polity — and the richest material sources of national 
prosperity — might have existed in vain. But the theme, 
full as it is, of interest and importance, must not de- 
tain us. 

I have thus attempted, by a few brief hints, to give 
some idea of the debt we owe to our Puritan fore- 
fathers. There is, in indiscriminate eulogy, a folly, 
which I would not willingly incur. Great and good as 
our ancestors were, they had their faults. We defend 
them not. To those, however, who hold their errors 
up to ridicule and opprobrium — who love to make 
much of . them — and ■ thus attempt to neutralize and 
obscure those unquestionable excellences, which detrac- 
tion itself cannot deny, — it is fully in point to urge, — 
that in the principles and acts, for which they are 
most censured, — defective as these seem, when weighed 
in modern balances, — they were, nevertheless, far in 
advance of all cotemporary standards. Do the wise- 
acres, who thus condemn and denounce a band of men, 
of whom the world was not worthy, vainly imagine, 
that, placed in similar circumstances, they would have 
risen above the control of long-estabhshed belief — the 
powerful influence of society and custom — and the uni- 
versal opinion of mankind ? If they do not, then is 
their censure unmanly. If they do — their self-know- 
ledge must be decidedly inferior to their self-esteem. 

But, while we would be slow to condemn our fath- 



28 

ers for mistakes, which, in the same situation it is mor- 
ally certain we should, ourselves, have committed — let 
us avoid the opposite error of indiscriminate admira- 
tion. To appreciate their merits, even while we per- 
ceive their errors through the white veil of charity, is 
widely different from that weak fondness, which con- 
verts those very errors into merits. With some men, 
the idea of strength and greatness in mind and char- 
acter, seems to be associated, to a certain extent, with 
rudeness and irregularity — if not with positive deform- 
ity. They forget — or they do not know — that the ef- 
fect of just proportions, is to lessen apparent magni- 
tude ; — a fact, no less true in the mental and moral, 
than it is in the material world. They appear to think 
that the very extremes of austerity and fierceness, into 
which even good and gentle spirits were often led, by 
a mistaken zeal, or goaded by persecution, should still 
be regarded and imitated as virtues. The mists of 
time, and that imperfect historic medium, through which 
they contemplate ancient greatness, not only magnify 
its image and conceal its faults, but adorn it even with 
prismatic beauty. The men, who have been passing 
in review before us, need the aid of no illusion, either 
to conceal or improve their features. Theirs was a 
greatness sufficient to atone for many imperfections, — 
and theirs a goodness, which, in our eyes, at least, 
may well throw into the shade, more and darker 
faults, than their worst detractors have yet been able 
to adduce. 

Let me now assume the privilege of the dramatist, 
and jump at once two centuries of time. Has the 
old New-England character depreciated ? Has the spirit 



S9 



of its founders and fore-fathers disappeared ? These 
are queries, which to us, can never seem of secondary 
interest. Regarding those ancestors, as we do, the an- 
swer involves a consideration, no less important than 
our own trust-worthiness. Our response is ready. It 
is no idle vanity, but an honest and commendable 
pride, which prompts our earnest and indignant No ! 
Ours, in such circumstances, is the just and natural 
resentment of the affectionate child, at imputations, 
which reflect as much on his parents as on himself. 
When the descendants of the Pilgrims, can no longer, 
with conscious innocence, repel the insinuation, which 
such a question conveys, let them cease to celebrate 
the deeds of their fathers, and blush even to pronounce 
their honored names. 

Not ours the absurdity to claim the merit of deeds 
which we were never called to perform. Not theirs 
the privilege, who never even girded on the har- 
ness of conflict, to mingle boasts with those who, 
after honorable service and glorious victoiy, have put 
it off. To be compefled either to battle with or to 
flee from unjust power — to writhe beneath the scorpion 
whip of arbitrary sway — odious alike in priest and 
king — are calamities which, personally, we know nothing 
of. Thanks, for the blessed exemption ! Thanks, under 
God — a thousand thanks, to those glorious men, who 
procured it for their children, at the price of exile, 
suflfering, and blood ! 

But the question returns — and I ask, in reply : — Does 
not the very admiration which we feel for our fathers, 
evince a spirit which, in circumstances like theirs, would 
establish its own legitimacy, and prove us not unworthy 



30 



of such sires ? That Saxon blood which, in the seven- 
teenth century, boiled under the infamous edicts of the 
Star Chamber, does it not still beat, vigorous and un- 
tainted, in the veins of every true New-Englander ? 
Is it not still prompt to warm with generous ardor at 
the sight or the tale of wrong? Is it not quick as ever 
to kindle at injustice ? Be not deceived by the cool, 
calm surface. The lava current may glow fiercely 
below. Try it — oppress it — and see if it do not boil, 
as hot and high as ever, The spirit of 1776 — that 
spirit which nerved a people, scarcely out of its swad- 
dling bands, to grapple with adult, aye, with gigantic 
power — and which beat it too — does it not, at this mo- 
ment, glow with undiminished fervor in more than six 
million Yankee bosoms ? If the thing were possible, it 
would hardly be safe to test it with another Tea tax. 
You, who sit so quietly before me — peaceful citizens 
of a peaceful community; you, who never saw a token 
or heard a sound of war, but in its mimic shows ; 
who have so little of its spirit, that you have paid 
many a heavy fine, rather than do what is called 
mihtary duty ; members, some of you, for aught that 
I know, of the Peace Society itself; would you, I 
ask, continue to look and feel so calm, and to exhi- 
bit these Quaker virtues of " modest stillness and 
humihty," were an army of such tools as are now 
executing the orders of the Austrian hangman, to in- 
vade this peaceful scene ; to seize or burn the fruits 
of your hard-earned toil ; profane these sacred altars ; 
desolate these happy hearths ; and plunge into noisome 
dungeons your wives and children ? How quick, how 
mighty the change, which would rush over the spirit 



31 



of your dream ! The idle vagaries of restless minds, 
which peace and prosperity engender, would disappear 
like smoke. The nonsense of the non-resistents would 
be seen to be nonsense, and the spontaneous emotions 
and deep purpose of your souls could find no fitter 
utterance than those burning words : — 

" By oppression's woes and pains ; 
By our sons in servile chains ; 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be free." 

But our assurance that the Pilgrim spirit still lives, 
rests not alone upon our faith in its possible achievements ; 
its innate but untried energies. New-England claims a 
thousand victories of Peace, not less renowned than 
those of War. In all which constitutes the well-being 
of an organized community ; the enjoyment of a wide- 
ly-diffused competence ; the possession of liberty unvi- 
tiated by licentiousness ; a just yet firm administration 
of law ; habits of industry and of enterprise ; in its 
good order, intelligence, and virtue ; and its institutions 
for the promotion of education, benevolence, and reli- 
gion ; New-England must be — nay, is generally allowed 
to have made greater advances, and to present a more 
faultless model, than the world has before or elsewhere 
seen. Is not this praise enough to fill any common 
ambition ? May not the children of such a mother 
well be proud of their parentage ? 

Should It be urged that there are other states in 
our Union — New-York, for instance, and, perhaps, Ohio 
— which, in these grand essentials of human happiness, 
fall little short of our beloved New-England — we shall 
be among the last to question it. Even more — we 



32 



claim the fact, for, and in behalf of New-England, as 
part and parcel of her great renown. To the leaven- 
ing influence of emigrants from New-England, and to 
the radiant light of her bright example, these mighty 
states are, beyond all question, indebted, for the high 
stand which they now occupy, not only in enterprise 
and industrial energy, but in the nobler interests ( f 
learning, morals and religion. 

Nor has that influence even begun to wane. The 
New-England Yankee, it is well known, is, for a well- 
disposed person, one of the most aggressive characters 
the earth has ever produced. To the slower genius of 
more phlegmatic races, whose peaceful provinces these 
restless spirits are constantly invading, their activity is 
often annoying, but we are not aware that it has ever 
proved injurious. Thousands of years ago, we seem 
to see their prototypes, in that active and brave Dorian 
race, which planted itself so rapidly and easily in all 
the seats of old Pelasgic power. They were the Yan- 
kees of antiquity, and their story is told in the pages of 
Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon. May our own 
be equally worthy of such historians, and no less suc- 
cessful in obtaining them. 

Where is the field accessible to an American freeman, 
which this same Yankee has not entered and occu- 
pied ? Point out to him a possible opening, and presto ! 
he is there. Straight in he walks, hardly saying, " by 
your leave," or passing the idle compliment of, " hope 
I don't intrude." Next, he steps into all the branches 
of lucrative business — and, finally, into every place of 
honor, profit, trust, and power. To his cool, wakeful, 
earnest activity, everything submits. Before the mo- 



33 



mentum of his blended impetuosity and caution, ardor 
and perseverance, no obstacle can long stand. No dis- 
tance is so great — no impediment is so high — no dan- 
gers are so imminent or so appalling, as to interpose, 
effectually, between him and the object of his desire. 
His spirit — though it works best in the healthful 
breezes of his own well-tempered clime — neither wilts 
nor evaporates under the burning line ; — it does not 
freeze, nor even stiffen amid arctic ice. 

He is fond of gold. Who is not ? He will go as 
far, perhaps, as an ancient Hidalgo, in pursuit of the 
glittering treasure ; but, not like the Spaniard, will he 
spend it when found. Personal emolument is, indeed, 
his first impelling spring — and it often carries him to 
realms, that lie beyond the rising or the setting sun. 
But, like earth-exploring Ceres, he dispenses blessings 
as he goes ; for ever^^where he carries with him the 
seeds of Christian civilization and of enlightened liberty. 
The yellow metal has drawn him to California. It 
drew the Spaniard thither, three centuries before him. 
Had the former carried with him then, all which the 
Yankee has taken now, — the same active, intelligent, 
industrious spirit — the same regard for freedom, order, 
and equal rights, — that country might, perhaps, still 
have been his own, — and the glories of Cerro Gordo 
and Buena Vista, might have shed their haloes around 
Castilian, rather than Anglo-American names. 

The foibles of the Yankee character, though not nu- 
merous, are undeniably prominent. Fortunately, they 
are not diseases — internal and chronic — but rather, ver- 
rucose excrescences, seated on the skin. Projecting, as 
these do, it is impossible not to see them, or, always 



84 



to avoid disagreeable contact. This operation, how- 
ever, if unpleasant to one party, is generally beneficial 
to the other ; — for, if it do but occur often enough, it 
can hardly fail to rub off, or to rub down the warty 
protuberance. 

It is a pleasing fact, that the progress of easy, fre- 
quent, and universal intercommunication, is rapidly 
wearing away, not only the less agreeable peculiarities 
of New-England manners and notions, but all those 
provincial and narrow prejudices, which have tended 
to separate and to alienate different portions of our 
country. Every new facility given to locomotion — 
every pinion that is added to transmitted intelligence, 
tends to render us more harmonious, by making us 
more homogeneous. 

The presentment which has been made of our sub- 
ject, feeble as it is, is yet, I trust, sufficient to justify, 
to any candid mind, that filial devotion, and those 
fraternal sympathies, which call us together on this 
day of our festivity. Should, however, men of some 
other race, or different line, significantly shrug their 
shoulders, and smile at what they deem our weak- 
ness — can we not afford to smile, in our turn, while 
we tender them our condolence for the leanness of 
their historic heritage, and the baldness of their patri- 
monial escutcheons ! But should there be a New-Eng- 
lander, who, recreant to the land which bore him, 
derides his ancestors, and ridicules the generous enthu- 
siasm of his brethren, we need do nothing worse than 
to leave him to his fate. That fate has been pro- 
nounced by the bard, and the hearty response of every 



35 

true man has endorsed the sentence. His epitaph will 
never be written — 

" For doubly dying," he'll " go down 
To the vile dust from which he sprung, 
Unwept, uuhonored, and unsung !" 

With one or two considerations of a more general 
character, I shall close, and relieve your indulgent 
patience. 

That Providence which metes out to each successive 
generation, not only the bounds of its habitation, but 
the time of its advent, has favored us bej'ond the 
common allotment of man. We were not only born 
into a great and prosperous republic, but first saw the 
light and breathed the air of freedom, in the brightest 
and happiest corner of that republic. In all the 
cycles of recorded time, no previous age has been so 
marked by physical, mental, and moral activity—so 
effulgent wdth the light of triumphant art — of chastened 
liberty — and of divine benevolence. Let us admit, to 
their full extent, and discharge, with willing heart, the 
obligations which such a lot imposes. Let us be faith- 
ful to the name we bear, and transmit it, with added 
lustre, to another, and still happier age. Let us fulfil 
our duty to the present, and hope well of the future. 

The Future ! what thoughts and fears — w^hat solici- 
tudes and hopes, come thronging with the word ! Does 
it rise in blackness before the anxious eye — seen through 
lurid skies, and portentous with muttered thunders and 
with forked fires ? Or is it the blushing, orient dawn ; — 
bright itself— and auspicious of a brighter day ? Praised 
be Heaven, for a wisdom so much beyond our own ! 



36 



The leaves of that Book may not be turned by mortal 
hand. 

Let us remember, however, that bright anticipations 
of the future, are, on the whole, as reasonable, as 
they are cheering. Such are the views, which best 
incite to benevolent action ; — such the hopes that 
prompt the ' high endeavor,' and that half insure ' the 
glad success ! ' 

As for us of America, we shall not, cannot fail, if 
to God, and humanit}^ and our own selves, but true. 
Darkness, indeed, still rests on many a distant and less 
favored land ; — and the clouds, which so lately seemed 
to be disappearing, before the rising sun of Freedom, 
have returned and settled into darker folds. But they 
are only vapors, after all. There is a bright, unclouded 
sky above them, and unseen elements of dispersive 
power, are still silently at work below. For awhile 
longer the Fiend, ' Discretion,' may shake her snaky 
locks, — and roll those ghastly, Gorgon eyes, — and turn 
her trembhng victims into stone. But Light, and Truth, 
and Liberty, are stronger still. Though struck to earth, 
they are not dead. ' The eternal years of God' are 
theirs — and their redeeming might will yet be felt. 

Dismembered Poland ! Bleeding Hungary ! Glorious, 
enslaved Italia ! shall ye not yet rise, strong in a more 
intelligent freedom, and irresistible with its avenging 
power ? Oh, yes, for 

" Body-killing tyrants cannot kill 
Tlie public soul — the hereditary will, 
That downward, as from sire to son it goes, 
By shifting bosoms more intensely glows. 
Its heir-loom is the heart — and slaughtered men 
Fight fiercer, in their orphans, o'er again." 



37 



Meanwhile, welcome, illustrious victims of oppression ; 
welcome, to our better, happier land ! In her sheltering 
bosom rest secure. Beneath the aegis ol" her great and 
growing name — the strength of her mighty, though slum- 
bering arm, your lives and liberties are safe. Here, 
help us rear the fabric of an empire, more powerful 
than all Europe combined ; — more benignant and glori- 
ous than the world has ever seen. 

The Union ! Name of might, — of happiness— of glory ! 
This Union — my friends — is it to stand ? or to fall ? 
To fall ! Forbid it — every hope of suffering Humanity ! 
To fall ! — Forbid it, all-protecting Heaven ! In that ship, 
have we not embarked our all ? While she holds on 
her steady way, are we not safe, and shall we not 
be successful ? Yes — gallant, glorious bark — sail on — 

" Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee ! 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tearsj 
Oui faith, triumphant o'er our fears, 
Are all with thee — are all with thee !" 



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